


Patient

by C4t1l1n4



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Instincts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Courting Rituals, Dean's internalized homophobia, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Self-Destruction, They shower together, but not in a sexy way, cas gets stuck in his head and has a meltdown, give Cas a break 2k20, no one actually dies tho, please he's just so fucking tired, this gets kinda dark for a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Angel tradition states that Dean has to be the one to confess his love to Castiel. Good thing Castiel is patient.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 97





	Patient

Castiel is a patient angel. Angels are patient by nature. They are created to guard souls for all eternity, wage thousand-year wars and watch the earth grow for centuries on end. So it suffices to say that Castiel is patient. But he’s getting annoyed. Ten years is a long time. In the grand scheme of things, no, it’s a blink of an eye to an angel, but when put in relation to humans, ten years is a long time. 

Angelic tradition states that, with angel hierarchy in mind, a lesser angel must be the one to initiate courting rituals in attempts to avoid a “pulling of rank” that would pressure or force a lesser angel into an unwanted relationship. Flirting or other displays of devotion are allowed by any angel for any level, to show interest, but ultimately, the lesser angel must make the first step. Seeing as Dean is not an angel, it puts him lower on the hierarchy than Castiel and therefore, he has to be the one to initiate any courting.

Cas had no interest in finding a mate, he was a warrior, dedicated to fighting for the will of God, but shortly after pulling Dean from Hell, his view changed. Dean is his charge, he rebelled, he’s killed and been killed for him. He helps with hunts, heals them on a regular basis and comes when called. Cas isn’t sure what else he can do to show interest, other than blurting out the fact that he’s in love with Dean, but that goes against angelic tradition. Dean has slowly adjusted to his closeted Bisexuality, as Sam and Cas pretend they don’t notice him cozying up to guys as much as girls when they head to sleazy bars. 

Cas is almost going insane as he wracks his brain for new ideas. He thinks about trying more traditional human courting methods, but angel instincts are too deeply ingrained, and he screws up human things way too easily anyway. It all comes to head when Cas appears in the motel room one afternoon, taking a seat on the edge of the bed Dean had slept on the night before. He is deep in thought when Sam glances over to him and pulls him from his pondering. 

“If you’re looking Dean,” Sam drawls, tired from extensive research, “he’s out doing more interviews, trying to get additional information about what exactly we’re hunting.” 

“Actually...” Cas pauses. Angels don’t have “brothers and sisters” in the same way humans do, so there is nothing in Angelic tradition against asking the sibling of his beloved for help. Loophole. “You might just be exactly what I need.”

This certainly draws Sam’s attention, the angel is always looking for his brother, so he turns away from the laptop and throws a skeptical look at Cas. 

“I do not know to make it clear to your brother that I am in love with him.” 

Sam snorts and adjusts his position so he’s fully facing the angel. He couldn’t exactly say he was expecting this now, but he knew it would happen eventually. “You could just tell him,” Sam suggests as if it’s the easiest thing in the world and not directly against every instinct screaming at him. 

“According to Angel Tradition,” Cas begins as if his mind isn’t buzzing like a live wire, recycling the same phrase in his head over and over. “The lesser angel must make the first move. Seeing as Dean is not an angel-“

“He’s the one who has to make the first move,” Sam chuckles, “holy shit.” 

“I do not see anything remotely funny about this situation, Samuel.” 

“Okay, Okay,” Sam holds up his hands placatingly. “Knowing Dean, he’s ignoring all the signs that you’re in love with him because he’s still trying to figure out if he’s okay with liking men. You’re gonna have to be pretty obvious, we don’t anything angel tradition, and even then, who knows.” Sam shrugs and gives Cas a few seconds to process, but they’re interrupted by the phone ringing. Cas stays seated on the edge of the bed as Sam swivels around to answer it. “Hey, Dean. Got anything?” It’s only when the call is over that Cas gets any explanation. “Dean’s finished with the interviews, he thinks he knows what’s up. I’ll be back later.” He pauses, halfway through organizing his chaotic piles of information. “You gonna be okay?”

“How do I be “more obvious” as you said?” Cas replies, doing air quotes for emphasis. 

“Uh... I don’t know. Get him something. But be ready for him to be confused. If you’re not gonna tell him bluntly what you’re up to, expect some backlash.” 

“The perfect gift.” 

But Sam was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Cas there and thought. The perfect gift. What could be a gift that couldn’t be confused? Pie? No. Something special. Something important. Cas slid to the floor, leaning up against the bed. He feels like someone was flipping through all the channels of a radio very quickly in his brain, spitting random bits of information at him. 

“Angelic tradition”

“Lesser Angel”

“Courting ritual”

“More obvious”

“The perfect gift”

Cas flexes his wings, drawing them into this plane of existence. He absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair and then pulls, frustrated. He ruffles his wings, and a feather falls out drifting to the ground. He picks it up and the radio in his brain keeps skipping through channels. 

“Angelic tradition”

“Lesser Angel”

“Courting ritual”

“More obvious”

“The perfect gift” Cas mumbles aloud, holding up the feather and watching the way it gleams iridescently in the sunlight. His gaze drops to his wings as he searches for a bigger one when he’s hit with a thought 

“Expect some backlash.” Isn’t that what Sam has said? Dean seemed to have no trouble with men at bars so maybe it was just him. Maybe Dean just didn’t love him. This thought tore at Castiel’s heart and a pain shot through him, searing his grace. What if Dean doesn’t love him? 

The radio in his mind flickers between channels faster than before and doubt is sprinkled in the white noise. 

“Angelic tradition”

_Dean doesn’t love you_

“Lesser Angel”

_You’re abusing your rank_

“Courting ritual”

_Your displays of affection aren’t enough_

“More obvious”

_You need to do better_

“The perfect gift”

And it loops and it loops and it loops. 

Until he gets an idea. His wings. His feathers. Feathers are an extremely important and intimate part of an angel. Certainly, an angel feather couldn’t be interrupted as anything less than a wordless declaration of love. It was toeing the line, but it’d be worth it if he could get Dean to understand how devoted and willing he was. Now, all that is important is finding the perfect feather. The perfect gift. 

\---  
Dean is exhausted. He’s been out all day in a stuffy suit, interviewing witnesses who spend more of their time crying than talking, only to be thrown headfirst in the fight against their monster of the week. He’s ready to take a shower and fall face down on this shitty hotel mattress and sleep. When he opens the door to their room, however, that’s not what he gets. Instead, he’s frozen in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of him. 

The first thing that draws his attention is the large puddle of blood that seeps its way towards him. The next thing is the feathers strewn about the puddle, like a demented set of sprinkles on bloody frosting. 

“Dude, what the-” Sam cuts himself off, coming to a standstill and peering into the room over his brother’s shoulder. 

In the middle of the bloody and feather filled puddle is Castiel. Flat on his back, wings on either side of him. 

“No.” Dean rushes over to where the angel lay, ignoring the way the cheap carpet squishes under his feet and how his jeans soak up the red substance as he falls on his knees. “No, no, no.” 

He is relieved to find that the wings aren’t etched into the ground, just lying motionless on top of it. Dean rests his head against the angel’s chest, closing his eyes and just feeling the rise and fall as he breathed. 

It’s Sam’s pained “The perfect gift” that draws Dean back into reality, to find his brother crouched close by. His eyes are trained on a large feather in Cas’s right hand before he springs to his feet and darts over to one of the books on the table, flipping through its pages. “I didn’t think that’s what he meant,” Sam mumbles more to himself, but Dean hears and goes to his brother’s side, demanding answers.

“What are you talking about?” 

Sam sighs, debating. “It’s a primary feather,” he finally says. Dean continues to stare at him and Sam rolls his eyes in frustration. “Wings are very intimate for an angel.” He explains, “They’re the closest thing to their true form we’ll ever be able to see without burning our eyes out.” Dean still stares, waiting for Sam to get to the point. “Look, earlier, Cas was asking about you. I mean, I haven’t done any more research into angel mating traditions, but he was looking for something to... impress you. Because you’re absolutely clueless or maybe just in denial but-”

“Why is he trying to impress me?” 

If Cas wasn’t going to do anything, and Dean was too clueless to put two and two together, then Sam was just gonna have to do it for them. 

“Because he’s in love with you, Dean.” 

“Sam!” A deep voice yelped from the other side of the room. Both brothers whirled around to find Cas pressed into the side of the bed in a state of panic. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked at the same time Dean demanded, “What happened?”

Dean took a step closer, but Cas flapped his wings instinctively in attempts to get away, only to cringe in pain, bringing a bloody hand to pull at his hair, the other dutifully clutching the feather. Sam grabs his brother’s arm to prevent him from moving any closer, but Cas was too deep in his hysteric panic to notice. 

“Cas…” Sam tried, in a soft voice, hoping to soothe his friend. “Cas, you’re hyperventilating. You gotta breathe, man.” He tried again but to no avail. 

Sam frowned, wracking his brain when Dean stormed over, squatting in front of the angel and gripping his shoulders tightly. “Castiel, you are an Angel of the Lord, goddammit. Breathe!” He barked out, in the most commanding voice he could muster. 

Orders, it turns out, are an angelic instinct override that works better than anything. 

Like a switch was flipped, Cas’s eyes burst open and he sucks in a breathe. Dean ducks his head as Cas begins to glow and his body ejects the extra energy as light to calm him down quickly. His mind stops flickering through radio channels and his vision clears and he grounds himself by clutching the feather and focusing on Dean’s tight grip. He lets out a sigh and rests his head on top of Dean’s as tears drip from his eyes, his vessel finally breaking from the stress and the pain. 

It’s silent for a minute, and Cas takes deep, reassuring breaths to regulate his system and slow the beating of his vessel’s heart. He lets Dean lift his head up to stare at him, and his vessel slowly runs out of tears to shed. Dean gently smooths out his ruffled hair and Cas realizes how tired he is, hanging his head in exhaustion. Dean lifts his head back up, and cradles his face in his hands, then places a soft kiss on his forehead. Cas’s lower lip wobbles. Dean smiles at him kindly, but Cas can see the hurt and confusion and exhaustion swarming in the sea of green. Dean gives him a pointed look instead of outright asking him if he was okay. 

“My wings hurt,” Cas admits, voice rough, half ashamed and half too exhausted to care. He just wants someone to wrap him up and pull him close and love him. 

Now that Sam knows everyone is okay, he mumbles an excuse about finding something strong to clean with and leaves. 

“Come on.” Dean motions with his head and they rise to their feet. Cas’s fingers refuse to uncurl from around the primary feather, not wanting it to get lost in the fray.

“Next time, we’ll have more fun with this.” Dean jokes as they strip their clothes and step into the motel shower together, but it’s also a promise.

For now, however, they simply enjoy each other’s company as a tired sense of calm settles over them. Halfway through, Cas rests his forehead on Dean’s shoulder, and his hand reaches up to clutch at the handprint there. Dean chuckles, and runs his hands through Cas’s hair, soaping it up to the best of his abilities. Shuffling around, they switch positions, water rinsing suds from feathery hair, and he tenses as it stings his aching wings. Dean gently nuzzles his hair in consolation. The water is turned off when they’re both clean, and Cas makes sure to wrap Dean in the comfiest towel the motel has to offer. They dry themselves off and they take turns ruffling each other’s hair with a towel, giggling as they do. Cas’s wings get patted gently dry, and they riffle through Dean’s duffle for some comfier clothes. 

Cas tenses at the pile of feathers and blood on the floor, but Dean grabs his hand and pulls him right past it, ushering him onto the mattress. He pushes Cas down on his back, who flares out his wings with a grimace, but Dean settles on top of him, and the pain is forgotten. They are starting to drift off to sleep, warm and fuzzy from the shower, when Dean mumbles. 

“I would’ve said yes if you had asked.” 

A voice in the back of his mind reminds Cas that’s not how it’s done. “You have to be the one who asks,” Cas informs him. Dean props his head up and stares curiously down at Cas, who stares back up at him, tiredly. “Angel tradition,” he replies with a yawn. “I’ll explain tomorrow if you’d like.”

Dean nods, satisfied at the promise of an explanation. “Well then.” He clears his throat and blushes, settling back down on Cas’s chest. “I’d like to go on a date with you,” he says, barely loud enough for him to hear, but Cas smiles anyway. 

He reaches forward with his right hand and tucks the primary feather behind Dean’s ear, letting it mingle with the strands of sandy hair. He lets the hand fall to the side and, with the last bits of his energy, snaps his fingers to clean the mess from the carpet. He suspects that Sam booked a different room for the night, but that he would appreciate the gesture nonetheless. The feathers remain, scattered around the room, but they are clean of blood and may even be useful for spells in the future. With that, he winds his arms around the small of Dean’s back and shuts his eyes to get some rest. 

Angels don’t necessarily sleep, but going into a meditative state will allow his wings to heal faster and give his vessel some time to recover. They had all night, after all, it’s only a couple of hours. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing, but when put in relation to humans, a couple of hours could be a long time. 

Cas is patient. He could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if I need to add any trigger warnings and I will.


End file.
